


Heroes Don't Always Wear Capes

by jqueen17



Category: Phan
Genre: Cute, DAN AND PHIL - Freeform, Feels, Fluff, M/M, Panic Attack, Phan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10027067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jqueen17/pseuds/jqueen17
Summary: Summary: Storms are scary enough as it is. But what’s scarier is waking up panicking in the middle of one.Word Count: 1699Warnings: fluff, a panic attack, feels, storms





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little drabble fic I thought was cute to write when I couldn’t sleep, so I hope you all like it as well:)
> 
> This fic was edited by the hilarious and talented @doujinshidan on tumblr; thanks Sage for dealing with my late night nonesense:P
> 
> As always, I love feedback more than I love myself, so ask away! And of course, enjoy:)

Dan  
A clap of thunder, a flash of lightning, and my fairy lights shutting off were what startled me out of an already uncomfortable sleep. I sat up abruptly, too scared of the dark to reach for my phone—which made no sense, as my phone would have lit up the room. I counted off the minutes in my head to calm myself down, but I hadn’t reached one hundred before my door opened quietly.

A soft voice came from the doorway, surprisingly not sending waves of pain through my skull like the thunder had been doing all night.

“Hey, Dan? Power’s out.”

I made a small noise of acknowledgement, expecting Phil to shut the door and go back to bed. Any normal person would have. But he had always been well attuned to how I was feeling, and didn’t hesitate to walk over to my bed. Even though it was pitch black, the only light coming from the lightning flashing through the window, he didn’t stumble—he knew his way around my room.

“Are you okay?” Phil whispered, doing what I assumed was kneeling next to my bed. I reached out a hand from under my duvet, fumbling around and feeling my fingers brush against his shoulder until he lifted his hand to meet mine.

“Not really,” I managed to breathe, not really knowing what exactly was wrong but trusting Phil to sense that I wasn't okay. His other hand touched mine before gently pressing against my chest so he didn’t startle me. After a few moments, Phil stood, and I was worried he was going to leave before he sat on the edge of my bed, tapping my side with his hand.

“Scoot over.”

I did as he said, sucking in a breath at how cool his skin was against mine. I was sweating and hadn’t even realized it. Phil pulled the duvet down to my feet, leaving just the sheet covering me, and still held my hand steadily in his.

“Shh,” he whispered, smoothing his other hand over my hair, which was sticking to my forehead. “Everything’s okay, I promise. I’m here, so you can go to sleep. I’ll stay awake.”

I wanted to say something, to thank him for being the literal best friend anyone could have, but I couldn’t breathe very well. I closed my eyes, trying to fall back to sleep, but even Phil’s steady presence by my side couldn’t completely quell the tremors running through my body.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling tears prick at my eyes for a reason I didn’t care to find out. Phil shushed me again, gently kissing my knuckles and continuing to run a hand through my hair. I wanted the power to come back on, but it’d been long enough by now that I knew it wasn’t going to until morning. 

After about five minutes of Phil trying to calm me down and me not calming down in the slightest, I knew the gears were turning in Phil’s brain as he tried to figure out what to do. These episodes happened often enough for Phil to know what it was, but not often enough for him to perfect a method of dealing with it.

“What do you want me to do?” he eventually asked, still staying quiet and calm, which I appreciated.

“Take me outside” were the first words out of my mouth, and I furrowed my eyebrows at myself, wondering why on earth that was what I wanted right now. But I couldn’t fight the intense urge to go out into the downpour, and as Phil pulled me to my feet, I wondered if I should tell him I was kidding so he didn’t have to go outside. But I was focused on steadying my breathing at the moment, and even when Phil put a jumper on and helped me do the same, I couldn’t convince myself to protest.

Before I knew it, we were sitting in the crevice by the entrance of the building, on one of the three steps that led to the door. We were shielded from the bulk of the rain, but not from all of it, and flecks of rain flew in to visit occasionally. I was shaking violently now, but more from the cold than from my panic attack at this point. Phil scooted closer to me, eventually wrapping his arms around me and hugging me to his chest.

We sat outside and watched the rain pummel the streets of London for about half an hour, the wind blowing sheets of water at us from time to time. The only sound was the rain hitting the pavement, and I took comfort in the smell of the city being washed clean and the feeling of Phil’s arms holding me still amidst all the chaos surrounding us. I matched my breathing to his, which was calm and steady even when the thunder cracked and the rain soaked through our clothes.

When we returned to the flat, I finally noticed just how soaked we had gotten, with my hair curling to an insane degree and the hems of Phil’s pajama pants making slapping noises against the tile.

“God, I’m sorry,” I couldn’t help but apologize as Phil fetched a couple of towels for us out of the laundry room cupboard.

“What for?” he asked, letting his pajama pants fall to his feet and swiping at his legs with a towel.

“Making you go out there with me and basically drown.”

Phil just smiled, helping me get my soaking wet jumper over my head and wrapping a towel around me. “I don’t mind it at all. A little water never hurt anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Phil asked again, the corner of his lip twitching up in preparation for another smile.

“Saving me,” I managed to whisper.

The smile fully formed on his face, and I smiled back, nodding when he gently instructed me to take a shower first. I did as he said, robotically shampooing my hair and dressing in a t-shirt and boxers. I wasn’t cold anymore—a bit too warm, to be honest—and waited in Phil’s room for him to shower. I wasn’t quite sure why I didn’t return to my room, but Phil’s was so much more comforting that I didn’t think about it too much. 

He didn’t seem surprised to see me sitting on his bed when he walked in either. He had changed his pajama pants, but hadn’t put a shirt on, so I wasn’t the only one that thought it was a bit warm. Sitting next to me, Phil didn’t say anything to break the silence, which I was grateful for. I was still a bit too shaky for my liking.

I jumped a bit when the room lit up, but it was just Phil’s phone. I watched as he clicked on Crossy Road, which he still played to this day, and leaned on his shoulder as he clicked the screen to begin.

“I still don’t know what you see in this game,” I mumbled, smiling when Phil chuckled quietly. I loved his laugh.

“It’s relaxing.”

“Oh, sure,” I rolled my eyes, but within minutes of watching Phil methodically click the screen and dodge the cars and lily pads and trains, I was asleep. 

 

When I woke up, I was cool and much calmer than I had been the night before. I didn’t know if it was the smell of Phil’s room, which was light and comforting, or Phil himself, who had let me have the majority of his bed to myself. I rolled over, expecting him to be next to me, but found the bed empty. I got up, not wanting to be alone, and found Phil busying himself cooking pancakes in the kitchen.

He didn’t see me at first, which I was okay with. It gave me an opportunity to study how someone could be so chipper in the morning. He was humming as he cooked, methodically mixing and pouring the batter, patiently waiting, flipping the pancakes, and shuffling them onto a plate. As he continued, he gradually accumulated quite a stack that rose high above the plate. Phil eventually looked over his shoulder, seeming to have sensed my presence since I hadn’t moved much.

“Morning, sleeping beauty. Your breakfast is almost done.”

I walked up to stand next to him, helping in whatever little ways he’d let me. Holding the plate, passing the sugar, moving his fringe out of his eyes—the simplest little things, but it made me happy to help however he wanted me to. For someone who did so much for me, Phil would hardly ever let me do anything for him.

Both of us chose to sit at the table for breakfast today, watching the downpour continue outside. The lightning and thunder seemed to have relented a bit for now, but the rain was falling as strong as ever.

“How’re you feeling this morning?” Phil asked around a mouthful of pancake, his tone still gentle in the light of day.

“Better, thanks to you,” I smiled when Phil’s eyebrows went up briefly, surprised by my direct answer.

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you feel better.” Despite his smile, I could tell that Phil didn’t want to take responsibility for making me feel better. He never wanted to admit that he was the reason I wasn’t in the hospital every other day, because it forced him to be a sort of hero. And he was, in my eyes. I had always thought that the saying “heroes really don't always wear capes” was cliché, but it was true.

“I love you.”

Phil’s eyes flicked up again, surprise and happiness flooding his expression, despite what was obviously his best effort to conceal them.

“I love you too, dork. Where did that come from?”

I shrugged, smiling at my pancakes. “You deserve to hear it more often.”

I was glad he didn’t protest, because if he had I would have thrown my fork at him. I vowed to myself that I would tell him that at least once a day, for as long as we were together. 

Heroes deserve rewards, even if they were only words of praise.


End file.
